Cancer | Open Space Practice, (AKA: A Thousand Shades of Gray)

Last night, Dexter and I played with his baby monkey until he fell asleep. Then I sat with him, his front feet pressed against my leg, the heat of his body warming me, the sound of his breath, the sound of our breath together, in and out, in and out. It was the purest of moments, sweet and quiet and joyful. The only reminders of his cancer were his runny eye and my sadness.

As always, in these moments when we are together and in love and nothing is wrong, I remind myself to just be there, to let go of panic and fear and grief, not to force those feelings away but to let them be with me, and even as I let them rest to also not cling or get attached, let those feelings leave when they are ready to go, allow them to dissolve.

And yet, I can’t help wishing that this sweet good-bying would go on forever, the two of us here together like this.

To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
~Mary Oliver

This past week I felt whelmed, a curious mixture of overwhelmed by everything there is to accomplish but underwhelmed with excitement about actually doing it. I had very little energy or motivation. I felt tired, confused, scattered and sad. Dexter was the tiniest bit worse. My hair is falling out again, as it does when I let stress creep in. The weather has turned cold and sloppy. It doesn’t help that I am coming down with a case of the crud.

And yet, that’s not the whole story. There were a hundred other moments that were amazing, beautiful, and full of kindness, (one being Mary Anne Radmacher calling me “fiercely gentle Jill”). So many that all the stuff that wasn’t so great didn’t even end up mattering, (well, except for that part about Dexter).

Tulku Thondup describes mindfulness as “the giving of oneself to the moment.” And as so many other wise beings have said, if you are in the moment, there is no problem, everything is workable. Geneen Roth said,

A gentle question to ask yourself: am I alright now, in this very second? And if you are, say that. “In this moment, I am alright. I am fine.” It allows you to cut through the stories and the anxiety and fear. Stop everything and take in the alrightness of just this moment. There will always be problems, so many problems, but if you stay grounded in your own presence, in your own alrightness, you can deal with them from a clear space.

This morning, Dexter and I took a long walk together while Eric and Sam where hiking at Lory State Park. Dexter’s left eye has been runny this past week, and I sometimes wonder which way his tumor is growing. Will his face start to swell, or is it pushing towards his brain? What are those last days, that final moment going to look like? But usually, I don’t waste my time with such speculation. I walk with him, play with him, pet him, love him, and even as we are good-bying, I surrender to the space of us still together.